


Maybe the Real Gold Medal Was the Friends We Made Along the Way

by thedishandthespoon



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Bottom Steve Rogers, Dom Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub, Fluff, Hockey Player Steve Rogers, M/M, Masturbation, Meet-Cute, Porn With Plot, Sub Steve Rogers, Top Bucky Barnes, Winter Olympics, figure skater Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26241889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedishandthespoon/pseuds/thedishandthespoon
Summary: Steve is at his first Olympic games and he's determined to prove himself. Bucky is at his last Olympic games and trying not to think about his retirement. They meet. Steve gets to call Bucky "Sir." It's nice.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 38
Kudos: 309





	1. Olympics

**Author's Note:**

> Welp this is indulgent as hell! Please ignore any loose ties to reality because this fic ignores many facts such as: the actual schedule for the Winter Olympics, the impossibility of booking a hotel room anywhere near the Village at the last minute, and just the existence of homophobia altogether. 
> 
> Also, I promise kidnapping sequel is still in the works. And tag suggestions are welcome :)

“Sam Wilson, you are a traitor to your country!” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Okay, Mr. America. I don’t think giving a bit of international appreciation _in another sport_ is gonna curse our chances for gold.”

Steve glares at him and knocks on the wooden gear cubby behind himself just in case Sam saying the word “curse” curses them. 

“But the _Canadians,_ Sam? If you’re gonna watch figure skating, can’t you at least cheer on _our_ pair?” 

“Man, do you even know the names of the Americans?”

Steve splutters, “I mean… well… I know there’s, uh, Peter Parker?”

Sam laughs. “He skates singles. C’mon, join me and you can even cheer on the Americans. Whose names are Tony Stark and Pepper Potts,” he adds pointedly. He sees that Steve still looks unconvinced, so he continues. “Even you gotta admit that taking tomorrow off would be a good idea.”

As much as Steve is here to _play hockey_ , Sam is right. He’s put extra skate time in since arriving at the village, and he’s getting dangerously close to the line where being prepared turns into overworking himself. Besides, he could probably stand to give some attention to other sports, and unlike Sam, Steve can still root for their fellow countrymen. “Okay, fine, I’ll come!” Honestly, he’s sort of excited to see what these other Olympic athletes can do on the ice. He’s taken skating lessons with a figure skating coach before, and it really improved his game. Maybe he can pick up a few things.

Still, _Canadian_ figure skating? While they have home ice advantage? Fucking goalies, man. Sam has no shame. 

Sam grins and claps him on the shoulder. “Sweet, they’re on tomorrow at two, we can grab food afterwards. You’re gonna be amazed, just wait.” He pulls off the last of his pads and stashes them in his cubby. 

“Yeah, alright. I’m rooting for the Americans, though.” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “We’ll see.”

Their first couple games have gone well, the team is really beginning to mesh, and Steve let himself sleep in this morning. So he is feeling pretty good as he walks with Sam to the rink where the first pairs skating event will be held. He still can’t entirely believe that he’s here, that he’s playing hockey at the _Olympics._ He knew he could be good enough, that there was a chance they might select him. Still, when he’d gotten the call, he’d almost passed out. It had taken all of his self control to hold his giddy shriek in until after he hung up.

And now he’s here. At the fucking _Olympics._ He still feels a burst of joy every time he puts on his Team USA jacket. 

That doesn’t mean he has the capacity to listen to Sam giving him the full stats sheet on every single figure skater in the games without tuning him out, though. 

“Where do you even find the time for all this?” It’s a genuine question. Before the Olympics started, they were deep into their regular season. He can’t imagine anyone decompressing after a day of practice and cross-training and game tape by reading about or watching even more skating. 

“Well for one, some of us aren’t trying to be the next Gretzky and end up having some free time. But yeah, in Juniors, my billet sister was a figure skater and the family was big on everyone supporting her. I got really into it. Wanda and Pietro were just getting popular then.”

Steve nods. He’s self aware enough to realize that he _is_ a bit more obsessive about hockey than your standard NHL player. Other people do probably have time for secret figure skating obsessions. 

“Did I tell you that they’re siblings? It’s fucking cute. They were adopted from Sokovia as children and their parents introduced them to figure skating to help them integrate as Canadians. Within three years, they’d won—”

And he’s off again. Steve returns to blocking him out. 

Steve has been so focused on his game that he’s spent almost all of his time at the rink, the gym, the cafeteria, or in his hotel room. They’re just in Vancouver, so it’s not like he’s too worried about sightseeing, but he knows his teammates think he’s stuck up for only joining them on their bar crawls some of the time. His superstitions are well-documented by the hockey media, but it’s one thing to hear rumors that he’s a weird hockey robot and another to see his routine in action. 

So it’s been nice to take a day completely off with Sam, who has been the starting Rangers goalie since he was drafted two years ago and has become a sort of mentor for him. He already knows about all of Steve’s quirks and isn’t bothered by them. It’s not that Steve hates fun or something, but going out and drinking just doesn’t seem fun enough to risk jeopardizing his game. He trusts his teammates when they go out, especially since most of them have actually been here before, he just prefers to keep his own mind solely on hockey. Especially while they have games every other day during the qualifiers.

But he promised Sam and himself that he’d take today day off, and that also means not obsessing about plays inside his head. So for the first time since arriving in Vancouver, Steve really takes in his surroundings as they approach the rink.

The figure skating rink is farther from the Village than the hockey rink, so they left early to walk along the river. It’s a beautiful, crisp day. The sky is overcast but bright, and there is a hum of excitement in the air. Far too many maple leaves from all sides, but many people in red-white-and-blue regalia as well. Steve forces himself to really appreciate it, to soak in the energy of being here amongst people who are so charged up by sports like his own. 

When they arrive at the rink, Sam is positively buzzing with excitement and Steve can’t help but be affected by it. They manage to find seats close to the ice amongst the already crowded stands and they watch as the pairs warm up. Sam starts matching the names he had gushed about during their walk to the willowy figures gliding across the ice. He points out the American pair as they skate past in unison, the woman thin and blonde and looking angelic in her white and gold dress, the man dark haired and donning a tight red number with enough gold that the ensemble looks ridiculously flashy but somehow still ties together. He feels a moment of solidarity for the pressure they must be feeling. 

Then Sam directs his attention to center ice. “There they are!” he says excitedly, pointing to a small woman with dark hair pulled back into a tight bun, moving alongside a man that looks like her direct opposite. Same face, but wearing a smile instead of a severe expression, and hair dyed blonde. Sam begins talking about the moment they revealed their costumes for this short program, and the different elements in it, and Steve tunes him out again.

His attention is elsewhere. 

The pair had been at the far end of the rink, but now are passing in front of Sam’s and his section. The man has dark hair that’s slicked back, though not enough to fully tame the thick waves that curl past his ears. His partner has her bright red hair up in a complex braided style and wears a short red and black dress with a deep V in the front and a bare back. Steve may not swing her way, but he can certainly appreciate that she is stunning. At first, the man looks positively nun-like in comparison, covered completely in black, but Steve quickly realizes that isn’t actually the case. The velvet outfit is skin tight, with mesh panels up the sides and hugging his every muscle. And he certainly has muscles.

All the skaters are strong, of course, able to perform inhuman acts of strength and grace. But most of them don’t _look_ it. Figure skating favors short, lithe bodies and lean muscles. And this guy certainly isn’t big _,_ is nowhere near a hockey player, but his thighs are thick and his shoulders bulge beneath his tight shirt. 

Steve is practically drooling.

“Who are _they?”_ he asks Sam, not looking away from the pair as they move by and continue around the rink. And god, the view from this angle brings its own rewards. The man’s pants cling to his ass, round and firm, and this coming from someone surrounded by hockey asses all day. 

Sam takes in his dazed expression, follows his sightline to the pair, and bursts out laughing.

“Oh _man!_ ” Steve finally tears his eyes away from the glorious ass to glare at Sam. Sam only laughs harder. “Oh, this is rich!” he exclaims. “You can’t give me shit about rooting for the Candians ever again. That man that you are thirsting over? His name is Yasha, and his partner is Natalia. They’re the top _Russian_ pair.” 

Sam begins laughing again, and Steve can’t even blame him. Miracle may have been thirty years ago and Steve may not even have been born when it did, but this is the Olympics and he is a hockey player and the Russians are certainly not their friends. 

Steve looks back at the ice. That _ass_ though. Surely it can’t be bad luck to appreciate something so objectively perfect. 

Sam continues. “You _would_ manage to find the defending champs though, you fucking overachiever. And Yasha is an American transplant at least.” Sam is still laughing. Steve is suddenly a lot more interested in all of Sam’s figure skating trivia. “They both skated singles when they were young, and Yasha used to be James Barnes for the U.S. Honestly, if you weren’t a hockey caveman, I’d be surprised that you hadn’t heard of him. He got silver when he was nineteen, it was a big deal. Shit, I guess you were only like seven years old then, Rookie.”

Steve rolls his eyes. Three years since his drafting, and Sam still calls him Rookie. “Yeah yeah, old man. So he was on Team USA? How did he end up in Russia?” 

“Country switching is way more common in figure skating, for one. But for Barnes, it was because of a big injury a couple seasons after his bronze. He hurt his spine and basically crushed his arm in a crash. He went off the map and the U.S. team wrote him off completely. But his family is from Russia, and a lot of it is pretty hush hush, but he went over there and got some kind of experimental treatment. He’s skated for Team Russia since, and I think they had him change his name to endear him to fans. Natalia Romanova was the Russian pride and joy skating singles—she won a _ton_ of medals—so when they paired up, they picked up a lot of fans quickly. They’ve been tearing it up ever since; they won bronze their first Olympics together and then gold last time. He’s thirty five and she’s thirty two so this will probably be their last games.”

Wow, what a career. Being at his first Olympics, he feels starstruck thinking about all the success they both have behind them. Steve feels a pang of sympathy for the pressure they must be under right now, though. But he can’t go so far as to hope they beat the Americans.

At least, he thought he couldn’t. 

But then the programs begin. There are a couple stumbles, but Steve watches each routine in awe. He completely forgets to analyze their movements across the ice for skating tips, just takes it all in with bright, wide eyes. Sam has his breath held throughout practically the entire Maximoff twin’s performance, and Steve has to admit that the performance is stunning. They move beautifully, so in sync that it’s like they’re two bodies sharing a single brain. They are both very small, and their technical difficulty score isn’t quite as high as some other pairs, but their execution is through the roof. Sam had tried to explain all the scoring to him, but he mostly watches in wonder and lets the numbers and the audiences guide his reactions. When they show the pairs on the screen receiving their scores, it’s wonderful to watch the ones that are happy with the results. The shared joy between the pairs, the adorable gifted stuffed animals, the hugs and the tears. It’s nice to just be in the audience and to see the competition go well for people.

Others are displayed on the large screen wearing looks of disappointment that are very familiar. He decides not to dwell on those.

When the Americans are up, his heart beats a bit more quickly, and he tries to send them a bit of telepathic luck. Their routine is to very intense music and looks extremely showy, all big movements and dramatic moves. They do extremely well and they get a high score, one spot below the Candians. There is another American pair later on, but they’re young and don’t score as highly. Still, they are impressive, and Steve feels proud of these compatriots also taking in their first games.

But then finally, the Russian pair comes on. They first take a calm loop around the ice, hand in hand and clearly psyching each other up. Before they take their places, they stand close, foreheads bent together, and Steve can _feel_ their connection. It’s not the first time he’s admired how in sync these pairs must be, but it’s the first time he really sees how much this is a _team,_ in the sense of the word that he knows. He looks at them and sees two people getting each other hyped up for this feat they are about to accomplish, is reminded of the charge of a locker room before a game, the elation when his line crashes together after a scored goal. As they settle into their starting poses, Barnes facing in Steve’s direction with a fierce and determined expression on his face, his arms held up with poise and looking so strong, Steve realizes he wants, desperately, for them to win. With a ferocity he hadn’t felt for the Americans, he aches to see their determination realized with a victory. He’s so focused on them that he doesn’t even take the time to be bothered about that.

And then they begin. The music is electric and their movements are almost brutal in their intensity. It’s like they’re fighting but also are unbelievably in sync, and when Barnes picks Romanova up for her first twist through the air, he throws her up impossibly high and it looks easy. Steve’s heart is in his throat the whole time, but they are _perfect_ as far as he can tell. 

And then he pulls her in, preparing for another huge move, but it looks a bit off the beat, and she goes into the twist, and Steve can’t breathe, and then she loses her edge on the landing and stumbles.

Steve is devastated. 

They finish up the last twenty seconds of their program as if nothing happened, but they’ve missed a lot of technical points. When they finish, they smile and hug, but Steve can’t tell that they’re frustrated. Barnes looks like he just lost a playoff game because he gave up a turnover that led to a breakaway goal. Steve aches for them.

They come in fourth place. 

The Maximoff twins come in first place, so Sam chats happily during their entire walk back to the Village, and Steve responds in kind, still pleased with how this day off has gone. Still, he can’t shake off this genuine disappointment that he is carrying. 

By the time they make it back and have dinner with some other players from team USA, Steve has mostly forgotten about the dismay he felt. He hasn’t forgotten the strong, graceful skater with the strong shoulders and great ass, but the man has at least moved farther back in his mind. He enjoys talking with his roommate Bruce, a soft spoken player from the Wild that he played with in Juniors, and Carol, a loud spoken player from the women’s team. Still, he declines to join them when they head out for the evening. He decided that he would rest up today, so that’s what he’s doing. Sam makes sure they don’t give him too much shit about it.

Bruce is the most similar to Steve and often they end up watching bad TV together before both going to bed early. Tonight, though, he heads out with the team. So Steve goes back to their room by himself.

Once showered and ready to lounge in bed, Steve starts to turn the TV onto something he can watch mindlessly, but then changes his mind. He has some energy to burn after his relaxing day and a room that will be empty for a while. So he grabs his tablet and rummages through his bag, emerging with a bottle of lube and a bright blue dildo. After setting the door’s internal lock, stripping, and spreading one of the hotel towels across his sheets, he settles in and goes looking for porn. 

Steve loves masturbating. In fact, he’s sort of obesessed with sex in general. The problem is, people see Steve and the only thing they see is hockey. His teammates might come into the locker room after a night out and show off scratch marks on their back, or talk about the crazy threesome they had during the off season, but anytime _he_ gets a date they expect a romantic dinner and missionary in a dark room. When he’d first come out to his friends and let himself be dragged to gay bars during the off season, he thought his youth and his inexperience might get him what he wanted. He’d been nervous and excited as he imagined some older man taking advantage of him. But all the men saw were his size and his self assurance and assumed he could give them a good, hard fucking. He’s only twenty-one but he’s already weary of it. So he obsesses over boys that look sort of like him being dominated online instead.

As a result, Steve has gotten quite good at fucking himself. He has a much larger assortment of toys at home, but the trusty blue dildo is a good travel partner. Not so large that he’ll feel it tomorrow, which he would love if he didn’t still have Olympic hockey to play, but still wide enough to get him full and satisfied enough for now.

Steve pulls up one of his favorite videos and props his tablet up on a pillow in front of him. It features an older, dark haired man and a young, blonde man who ends up bound to the bed, legs hoisted up over his head, and then gets spanked and fucked hard. The younger man spends the entire time whimpering and moaning and begging and the dark haired man is quite mean to him.

Steve _wants._ He wants so badly to be dominated and taken hard by a man with a big cock. He wants to be _wrecked._ He’s desperate for it, gets absolutely pathetic as he fucks himself and imagines himself in the younger man’s place. He knows he could be so good for someone, would be filthy and slutty and would _love_ it, but no one ever wants that from him. It makes him feel rather lonely sometimes.

As the video starts, Steve gets on his knees and spreads his thighs then folds down over them. His asshole is fully exposed and he imagines he is presenting himself to someone. He pours some lube on his fingers and bypasses his cock, which is already hard and hanging down between his thighs, in favor of reaching back to tease at his rim. He has to brace himself with his other arm in order to watch the video, so he isn’t able to touch his erection. It’s better that way. He doesn’t want to touch it, he wants it to belong to someone else and to only worry about his hole and about pleasing them. 

The thought makes Steve part his lips and make a small, desperate noise. He circles his rim once more and then begins pressing one finger into his hole. The man in the video started out by being mouthy, but the older man quickly forces him to the bed with a hand on his throat. Steve fucks himself with the one finger as the older man slaps the younger hard in the face and then begins to tie him up roughly. At that, Steve extracts his finger and spanks himself hard on his asscheek. The smack is loud in the room, and the action feels silly, but the embarrassment and sting of it make him whimper. This time, when he enters himself, he uses two fingers and doesn’t go slowly. He pushes them in hard, his hips moving back to meet each thrust. He increases to three fingers when he’s barely ready for it, adding some lube and then forcing them in past his tight rim. With each push, his fingers just barely brush against his prostate, and his cock leaks steadily onto the towel below him.

In the video, the dark haired man is stroking his own cock as he prepares to enter, so Steve withdraws his hand and covers his dildo with lube. He’s tried to be good, to ignore his cock like he said he would, but the urge to touch overwhelms him. He takes himself in his fist and gasps at the sensation, thrusting into his slick fist only twice before he’s on the verge of coming. He forces himself to stop before he goes over the edge and has to take a moment, panting into the mattress. A few frustrated tears spill from his eyes.

He couldn’t do it.

Steve is self-aware enough to realize that his hyperfixation on training in all aspects of his life has crossed into his sexual desires, and perhaps that isn’t healthy. But he still wants to be good, to be trained to just be used and to ignore his cock. But he’s not strong enough on his own. He needs help. 

The man on the screen moans loudly as he is entered forcefully, and Steve wipes at his eyes angrily before pushing those thoughts aside and getting back to it. He picks up the lubed-up toy again and presses it against his entrance. This is the first time he’s going to use it since before he came to Vancouver, and even its modest size feels thick as he starts to push it in. Thick and so, so good. As it fills him up, he stops paying any attention to the video and just focuses on the stretch. Once the toy is seated fully inside of him, he gives up on the video altogether and lets his face fall down against the mattress. No longer having to prop himself up, he’s able to get his hand underneath his chest to start pinching and twisting his nipples. Only then does he pull the toy mostly out and start fucking himself with it. 

Within minutes, he’s humping the air desperately as he shoves the toy deep inside himself. His nipples are raw where he has been abusing them, and his cock is impossibly hard and dripping below him but he hasn’t touched it again. As he moans into the sheets, now only vaguely aware of the moaning and grunting from the video, his imagination begins to wander. He remembers James, who he had been so instantly drawn to. He’s over ten years older than Steve and so easy to imagine as the dark-haired man in the video. He could probably teach him a lot, could train him so well. Steve imagines being bound and spread open, looking up at James while he fucks him mercilessly, and then he’s coming. He presses his face into the sheets to muffle the noises he makes as he grinds the toy into his hole, his cock jerking as each new wave of pleasure washes over him and soaking the towel beneath him. When they fade away, he’s left feeling drowsy and warm. There’s a reason he usually masturbates at night; it leaves him useless afterwards.

Unfortunately, a quick glance at the clock let’s him know that he probably does not have time to bask in the afterglow just yet, so he gets himself up and cleans up. He’s not sure what to do with the messy towel, so he kicks it under the bed guiltily and makes a mental note to leave a really good housekeeping tip. 

Once he’s cleaned up and back in bed, he lets himself sink back into the fantasy. Now, he imagines being held against James’s firm chest, the man’s fingers playing through his hair. If he’d done a good job, he might get praised for it. He takes hold of one of the extra pillows on the bed and hugs it tightly as he settles into sleep.

The next day they have their last qualifier and Steve wakes up early, buzzing with anticipation. He heads to get a quick, light workout in before breakfast, leaving Bruce still sleeping only after checking that the man has an alarm set. Their game is early in the afternoon, so it’s important to get up early and have a lot of time to go through pre-game routines. Especially so for Steve, given how regimented his routine is. 

When he gets to the dining hall after his workout, he runs into some teammates, Sam among them. They’re all psyched after their first two wins but there’s an added charge since they play Canada today. A hopefulness but also an acknowledgement that they’ll be going in for a fight. His mind focuses, surrounded by his teammates and feeding off their energy. Unlike on the Rangers, where he came onto a struggling team as the first pick with high expectations and feels all the pressure associated with that near constantly, here it’s nice to be a rookie surrounded by true veterans of the game. The pressure is still immense, especially since he’s started first line center in both games, but it feels spread across many shoulders. 

So as he eats his breakfast mostly quietly, laughing at his teammate’s antics and hearing from Sam about the previous evening, he just takes it all in with the same sense of awe that he’s held the entire time. He’s at the fucking _Olympics_ and they’re doing really well _._

As he thinks this, he does a precautionary knock on the table’s underside, but he also feels pretty positive about their chances.

And for good reason. They fucking _won._ They beat Canada, their biggest competition, 5 - 3. And one of those goals was his, a top-shelf wrister to pull them ahead late in the second. 

Steve is on top of the fucking world. 

At dinner, everyone is animated and talking and laughing loudly. Sam keeps yelling “fucking _Rookie!”_ at him and messing up his hair. Steve flushes and laughs each time. They have two days before their first elimination game, and no practice until tomorrow afternoon. It does not need to be said that they plan on _celebrating_. This time, Steve agrees to join them. 

Except then, he sees _him._

The team is deep into making plans for their night when Steve looks up from his mostly-demolished pile of pasta and chicken and looks directly into the eyes of the man he fucked himself thinking about last night. He almost chokes on his chicken, but manages to swallow it down with some water. Barnes is still staring at him when he looks back up. 

Steve is almost tempted to check behind himself and make sure the man isn’t actually looking at someone else. But no, he is sitting a few tables away, eating with his red-headed partner, and staring directly at Steve.

And, well, they fucking _won_ tonight. They swept their qualifiers. Steve is still buzzed from the win and feels like he can take on anything.

So he gets up, gives his teammates some lame excuse, rolls his shoulders back, and walks towards Barnes.

When he arrives at the table, Romanova is talking, but she quickly quiets when she catches sight of Steve. 

“Oh my,” she says in an accented voice, smiling sharply. “What do we have here?” 

Barnes gives her a pointed look before smiling at Steve. It’s gorgeous. Steve feels desire zip through his body. He clears his throat. “Uh, hey. I watched you guys yesterday. It was amazing,” he says, already wincing internally. If someone said that to him after a loss, he would probably punch them. He should have planned this out more.

Barnes’s smile becomes pained. Steve tries to salvage things. “I just mean, I know it didn’t… end how you probably wanted, but the rest of it was so good, definitely my favorite, such good… spins. And jumps.” This time he does wince. Even the high from their wins can’t help him here.

Barnes continues to grimace, but Romanova just bursts into a high peal of laughter. “Oh, Yasha, he’s so earnest. Be nice.” 

Steve tries to smile in a way that shows he supports this idea. Barnes stares at him for a moment longer, then his expression softens and he pats the seat next to him. “Why don’t you sit down?” he says, and Steve almost breaks something trying to arrange himself into the seat. Barnes’s mouth ticks up into a reluctant smile. 

Romanova reaches across the table to pat her partner on the cheek with perfectly manicured nails. “Yasha is just annoyed that he ruined our program yesterday,” she tells Steve. “Try to forgive his rudeness.” Then she grabs her mostly empty plates, brushes a light kiss against Steve’s cheek, and stands. “You can call me Natasha. It’s nice to meet you, Steve Rogers.” Steve’s are wide from the kiss and her overall confidence and the use of his name. Then she steps over to Barnes to kiss him on the top of the head. She addresses Steve again. “And don’t be fooled by him, he’s a big Rangers fan.”

Barnes says something that sounds scathing in Russian, but she just smiles and leaves. He turns to Steve and smiles wryly. He thrusts his hand out in Steve’s direction. “Let’s just start over. You can call me Bucky.” He speaks English with an American accent.

Steve lets out a relieved breath and takes Bucky’s proffered hand. “Yes please,” he responds emphatically. “I’m Steve.” Bucky’s grip is firm and his hand is surprisingly large.

Bucky releases his hand and laughs a bit self-deprecatingly. “I know. I really am a fan,” he says. Steve, who meets fans all the time and generally has no difficulty remaining composed, blushes and smiles down at the table. 

“After yesterday, I can say the same.” Steve wants to sew his mouth shut. Why oh _why_ did he bring that up again.

Bucky only laughs, though. “Well thank you. And don’t worry, I’m not so fragile that I can’t handle a bit of a stumble. We’ll win tomorrow,” he says assuredly. Steve envies his faith.

He means to say something else about the program, or maybe the fact that Bucky apparently watches him play from Russia, but instead he blurts out, “So you? And her?” His voice carries some desperation in it.

Bucky raises his eyebrows and leans back in his seat, smirking and spreading his legs a bit. He rakes his eyes along Steve’s body and Steve flushes hot under the gaze. Bucky looks utterly dominant in that position. If Steve hadn’t already imagined him in that role, he certainly would start now. “Why?” he asks, amused. “You interested?” a head tilt into the distance makes it clear that he’s talking about Natasha. 

Steve swallows and shakes his head. “Not in her,” he manages to say.

Bucky grins wolfishly and leans in towards Steve. Steve has to fight not to whimper. Bucky has become so _imposing_ , is so focused on him. “You’re a little young for me, I think.” 

Steve is shaking his head before Bucky is even finished speaking. “I’m old enough to know what I want. Bucky, please…” he trails off, not sure what he wants to ask for, but knowing he sounds whiny and desperate. It’s embarrassing, but he _wants._

Bucky gives him another once over. He settles a palm onto Steves bare forearm over the table. “I’m not sure you could handle me, Steve. You might get more than you bargained for.” He looks like he’s considering it. He also sounds like he’s suggesting he might be exactly what Steve had fantasized him to be. 

His mind is already beginning to feel gentle and quiet in Bucky’s presence. He bites his lip and looks up at Bucky shyly. “I don’t think I would. I think I could take all of you.” His voice doesn’t leave room for misinterpretation and the overture makes him blush harder.

Bucky’s eyebrows fly up. Steve has clearly surprised him and he revels in that feeling before immediately worrying that he went too far. Then Bucky’s expression smooths and he breaks into a smirk. “Really,” he says, amused. “See, I think you might just be an overeager boy who heard all the stories about the Olympics and got himself overexcited,” he says. 

Now Steve is the one scowling. “I’m twenty-one,” he objects, and then realizes that might not give the impression of great maturity that he’s going for. “I _know_ what I want,” he repeats, this time with even more confidence. 

Bucky brushes his thumb across the skin on Steve’s forearm while looking at him intently and Steve almost shudders with pleasure just from that light touch. 

“You do, don’t you sweetheart,” he murmurs. Steve can’t hold back his whimper this time. The gentle sound escapes from his slightly parted lips and Bucky’s eyes darken. They gaze at each other for a moment, the space between them growing more and more charged, until Bucky breaks the contact by reaching for a napkin from the table’s holder and proffers a pen from somewhere on his person. He scribbles something down and then looks back up at Steve. “You coming tomorrow?”

Steve blinks and tries to think about anything that isn’t his slightly hard cock or the promises contained in Bucky’s heated gaze. Tomorrow. Oh, Bucky’s free skate. He answers yes. 

Bucky nods, looking pleased, then picks up his plate and stands. Steve pouts but follows suit. When Bucky notices his displeasure, the skin next to his eyes crinkles as he smiles that amused smile again. “Some of us have to compete tomorrow.”

Steve is embarrassed about his reaction. “Right. Um, good luck,” he says. “You’re gonna do great.” What the hell, he swears he’s better at motivation than this with his team.

Luckily, Bucky seems to find it endearing. “Thanks, doll.” He has to press close to pass by Steve, and his fingers slip into Steve’s back pocket as he goes. He then pats Steve’s lower back, right above the swell of his ass. Steve gasps at the touch and the heat of Bucky’s body as he slides by him. 

Then Bucky is gone.

Dazed, Steve reaches into his back pocket. The folded napkin is there. He unfolds it to find a string of numbers and a message:

_After I win gold. -B_

Steve feels anxious on Bucky’s behalf for the curse he just bestowed upon himself and knocks at the table in front of him. Mostly, though, he finds himself rereading the note and smiling hopelessly. Holy shit. He’s at the fucking Olympics, they just swept their qualifiers, and he _has Bucky’s number_. 

Once he gets himself calmer, he goes back to his table, where everyone is done eating and seems to mainly be waiting on him. As soon as he goes to sit down, he starts getting ribbed by his teammates. 

“Shit Steve, you pulling figure skaters now?” Lang exclaims loudly. Steve blushes fiercely. He’d completely forgotten that he was in plain view of the team’s table. 

Lang chimes in. “Man, no wonder you ditch us every night, if you’re gonna pick up before we even leave!” 

Steve laughs and tries to will his blush away. “Langsy, if you could get a single figure skater to even look twice at you, we’d never see you outside of the locker room again.” His other teammates laugh at the insult. 

They come back with a few heckles about Bucky’s age, and Steve does blush a bit, but then Sam, beautiful Sam, swoops in like a knight in shining armor.

“Alright boys, leave the man alone. We finally convinced him to come out with us, eh? You’re gonna scare him off.” Steve resents the implication that he’s that skittish, but he does appreciate the support. 

The other players laugh and relent, starting to collect their dishes and getting ready to head out. As much as they were just giving him shit, Steve feels warmed. They had waited for him so they could all leave together. 

Some of the older players head out to meet up with their families, but most of the team ventures into the night to hit their first bar. Sam’s wife Maria just had a baby, so he’s stuck with the unattached bunch for this trip.

As they walk over, Sam catches him alone. He raises an eyebrow.

“So I guess that routine really made an impression on you, huh?”

Steve’s mouth ticks up in a rueful half smile. “It was really that obvious to all of you?” 

Sam laughs. “Steve, the man touched your arm and you looked like you were about to spontaneously combust. Even Bruce noticed.” Steve blushes again and rubs at the back of his neck.

“He gave me his number,” he finally says, unable to keep the exhilaration out of his voice. 

Sam whistles. “Shit, okay! I guess you’ll be coming to the free skate with me tomorrow then?” Steve nods happily, and Sam shakes his head. “Man, you cannot say a single thing about me rooting for the Canadians ever again. Drooling over someone on the fucking Russian team.” 

“Sam, I’m not a traitor if it’s for _romance,_ ” he says seriously. Sam takes one look at his face and bursts out laughing.

“ _Romantic,_ okay Steve. I guess if that’s what the kids are calling it these days.” Steve grins. He’s floating way too high for any teasing to touch him up here. He kind of wishes he hadn’t agreed to come along, so he could go fuck himself in his room again, but at least he has a lot to celebrate. It’s gonna be a good night.

The next day, as they find seats and settle in to watch the pairs free skate, Steve finds himself feeling as nervous as if he were the one competing. Sam explained the scoring to him again, and it’s technically still possible for Bucky and Natasha to win gold, but they’ll basically have to be perfect. 

As they watch the skaters warm up and he catches sight of the pair making their confident laps around the rink, Steve begins to feel a bit calmer. Today, Bucky is wearing tight black pants and a light-purple button up that still shows off his shoulders. Natasha is wearing a flowy dress in the same color. They look so good. 

And then before long, the competition begins.

The routines are longer today, but Steve is invested enough at this point that he doesn’t mind. It’s a subset of the same pairs from two days ago and he likes seeing them all dance in these different styles. 

Tony and Pepper are early on again, and they perform a wonderfully boppy number. A few routines later, the Maximoff twins are up, and Steve doesn’t comment because he’s a good bro, but he’s pretty sure Sam has tears in his eyes as he watches. Their number is rousing and gorgeous, but Steve notices smugly (and guiltily) that Pietro wobbles slightly during a set of jumping spins, and their rotations go out of sync. Sure enough, it affects their score, and Steve tries not to feel hopeful about the lessening gap that Bucky and Natasha would need to fill to overtake them.

And then finally, again last, Bucky and Natasha.

They skate onto the ice and do their leisurely warm up lap. Then they face each other, clasping both hands and making fierce eye contact for a moment, before separating and getting into position. Steve can hear his heartbeat thumping in his ears.

The song they’re using for this program is completely different than the energetic piece from last time. It is gentle and soft, and only moments in, Steve is already getting emotional. They move together gracefully, dancing across the ice like ballroom dancers. And then not even thirty seconds in, Bucky takes hold of Natasha’s hips for their first element. He lifts and throws her high up into the air, and she twists her body into three rotations before softly landing back in his arms and then onto the ice. It’s _flawless_ , and Steve gasps in awe at the raw power required for that feat. He joins the crowd in cheering.

The rest of their routine goes much the same. Each of the elements Sam told him about are executed to perfection, the crowd becoming more excited after each one. They may be competing against the hometown heroes, but not even the fans of the Maximoff Twins can ignore the magic that they’re seeing. When the music quickens and they nail their most difficult element near the end, Natasha landing immaculately, the energy surrounding the rink is palpable. 

And then it ends, Bucky holding Natasha above him, and the music fades. 

Natasha slides to the ice, fists raised and face glowing with joy. Bucky joins her, hugging her tightly and laughing. If asked before, Steve would have thought something like that would have made him jealous, but here, watching it happen, he feels only joy. They know they did the best they possibly could have done and their euphoria is addictive. The crowd is going wild.

And then they sit to wait for their scores, looking happy but terribly anxious. After deliberation, the numbers are called out, and Steve can tell that they’re high enough to be winning but Sam turns to him and adds that they _broke the record_ and Steve clutches at his chest. He is just so _happy_ for them. He already thought Bucky was attractive, but seeing him like this? Tears running down his face from the joy and sharing in it with his teammate and smiling uncontrollably, Steve is dazed by the man’s beauty. Heat pools in his belly. He has this man’s number, will probably get to see him again, and it’s all quite overwhelming. 

Steve is at the _fucking_ Olympics, Bucky just broke the world record, and Steve possibly, probably, will have a _date_ with the man. He breaks into a wide grin.

They stay to watch the awards ceremony and the accompanying speeches, and Sam seems happy enough that Canada is getting silver. 

“You _had_ to go for the unbeatable one, huh Steve?” Sam jokes. “Always to the top with you.” 

Steve can only beam in response. He wants his _own_ gold medal, but for tonight, he’s happy feeding off the joy of someone else’s. He doesn’t know why he already feels connected enough to Bucky to care this much about his gold medal, but he does, and it’s heady.

Once the ceremony is over and the rink is emptying, Steve begins to fret. He’s already programmed Bucky’s number into his phone, but he worries at the napkin anyways, folding and unfolding it in his hands.

“I should definitely call him, right?” Steve asks Sam for the tenth time. They are standing in the rink lobby as Steve attempts to grow some balls.

“I really don’t think that note could be any more clear about it,” Sam says, exasperated at Steve’s nonsense.

Steve takes a deep breath. “Right. Okay.” He rolls back his shoulders. “Okay, I’m doing this.” He pulls out his phone, scrolls to Bucky’s name, and stares at it. 

Sam lets out a huff of annoyance. “For fuck’s sake, Rogers.” He leans over, peers at Steve’s phone, and presses the number for him. 

Steve gapes at him. “What the hell, Samuel,” he hisses. He can hear the tinny sound of ringing coming from the phone in his hand, so he quickly brings it up to his face. 

After a few rings, there’s an answer. “Hello?” says the voice.

Steve clears his throat. “Um, hey. It’s me. It’s Steve.”

There’s commotion in the background, but it quickly fades as if Bucky is leaving the room that it was coming from. “Steve! Sweetheart.” There is a smile in his voice. The pet name makes Steve flush with pleasure and relief. “I’m glad you called.”

“Congratulations,” he says sweetly.

“Thank you, doll. What do you say we get some dinner to really celebrate, hm? Let me take you out.” 

Steve gives Sam an excited thumbs up. Sam rolls his eyes but smiles back at him. “Yes! I mean, yes, that would be great.” He remembers all the noise Bucky had just been surrounded by and becomes nervous again. “Are you sure you don’t already have people to celebrate with?” 

Bucky immediately dismisses that with a laugh. “Natasha’s girlfriend flew in for this, they’ll be ditching me any…” he trails off, then speaks away from his phone’s speaker. “Natasha!” he follows her name with some words in Russian, and then there is some rustling, and then he’s back. “Right now, apparently!” He doesn’t sound disappointed by that fact. “Anyways, I know exactly how I want to celebrate.” There is heat in his tone that makes clear what he means.

Steve bites his lip. “I’m still at the rink. In the lobby.”

“Perfect. You just hang tight, sweetheart, and I’ll be right there.” 

Steve feels like pumping his fist, but there are still Sam plus some stragglers in the lobby with him. Instead he babbles an assent that involves far more words that it needs to, and hangs up the phone to wait.

Sam claps his hand onto his shoulder once he’s done. “Alright, Rogers. Seems you’ve gotten your man. I love you, and I’m definitely going to be smug that I’m the reason this is happening, but that doesn’t mean I want to see any of it.” 

Steve gives Sam a genuine smile. “Thank you, Sam.” 

Sam squeezes Steve’s shoulder. “No problem, Rookie,” he says fondly.

With that, Sam leaves, and Steve is left alone with his nerves. 

But not for long.

Minutes later, Bucky strolls into the lobby. His long legs are clad in tight fitting black slacks and his dark blue shirt is not much looser than the one he wore figure skating. His hair is soft, the gel washed out, and curls gently around his ears. Steve’s mouth goes dry. 

Bucky smiles at him. “Hi, Steve.” He stops in front of him, smelling like wood shavings and something floral and sweet. 

Steve leans in and presses a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “Congratulations on gold!” He gets an adrenaline rush just from daring to do that action.

“Well aren’t you sweet,” Bucky says with a smile. 

Steve looks down at his gray henley and dark pants. “I feel a bit underdressed,” he says. Standing next to Bucky while he looks so put together, Steve feels the years between them all the more plainly. He feels like a child. 

He doesn’t mind it.

Bucky rakes his eyes in an exaggerated path down and then up Steve’s body. “I think you look perfect.” 

Steve smiles, pleased and satisfied. 

“Anyways,” Bucky continues. “I’m thinking, if you’re interested, that we might get room service for dinner instead.” Steve’s eyes widen. “I happen to have a room outside of the Village for the night.” 

Steve nods quickly. “Yes please,” he answers shyly. He can’t believe this is happening. Half of him still expects to have gotten it all wrong and find out that Bucky expects him to be in control or for Bucky to say he’s joking or for it to otherwise be horrible. 

Until then, though, he is taking what he can get.

They use a ride service to get to the hotel and Bucky has his hand on Steve’s thigh the entire time. It’s just above his knee and should not be enough to make him begin to harden, but Bucky isn’t just resting his hand, he’s gripping Steve’s leg firmly with his large hand and it feels possessive. Steve wants those hands all over his body. He’s practically quivering in his seat. 

They’re silent otherwise, a charged silence that makes the ride feel like ages. Steve looks out at the city, but he also keeps sneaking glances at Bucky and always finds the man watching him with dark eyes. Halfway through the ride, Bucky begins circling his hand so that he’s caressing Steve’s thigh. Steve leans his head against the cool window to try and awaken enough brain cells to get him through this. 

When they arrive, Steve follows Bucky out of the car and Bucky presses a hand to Steve’s lower back as they enter the hotel. He doesn’t take in a single word between Bucky and the concierge, too focused on the touch and on the promise it holds for their evening.

When they finally get to their room, Steve barely takes in the large room before spinning around and moving to kiss Bucky up against the door. Bucky swiftly gets a hand between them, pushing at Steve’s chest.

“Whoa there, sweetheart.” Steve flushes from the rejection. Did he read everything wrong? “There will be time for that later, but you,” he chucks Steve on the chin and Steve feels terribly embarrassed and small, “will not get to decide when. Right now, we eat.” 

This is not going like any hookup that Steve has ever had. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs in a small voice.

Bucky pats him on the cheek and smiles the apology away. “Just too eager for your own good, doll. This isn’t going to be a quick fumble in the gear room. That’s not what I want and that’s definitely not what you want.” Bucky says the words so matter-of-factly, and he’s right, but Steve feels wrong-footed. He’s been with many people, and sure it’s been disappointing, but he thought he could at least say that he has some experience. If he can’t use that, all he’s left with is his fantasies and Bucky’s will. His cock, which had mostly softened as Bucky was getting the room, fills once more. 

Steve swallows and nods. 

Bucky goes to the small table against the wall and pulls out a chair. “Sit here, Steve.” Even this simple command goes straight to Steve’s dick. He hurries to comply.

Bucky remains standing and now Steve is very close to his groin. He wants to lean his head there, but he remains still. Bucky runs a hand over his hair. “Good.” Steve feels a rush of satisfaction at the light praise. “I’m going to call for room service, and then we’re going to talk while we wait for food.” 

Steve can only nod in response. 

After Bucky gets off the phone, he joins Steve at the table. He sits at the side of the table adjacent to Steve’s and turns to face him. Their knees are almost touching. He looks as self assured as he had in the cafeteria yesterday. Steve darts his tongue out to wet his lips. 

“Alright, doll. I think I know something about what you want, but I’m not interested in making assumptions. I’m gonna tell you what I think, and you’re gonna tell me if I’m wrong.” 

“Okay,” Steve manages to respond. Bucky is so close. They’re alone in this hotel room that Bucky got for them to use.

Bucky leans back in his chair, seemingly unaffected as Steve struggles not to burst from all the anticipation welling up inside of him. “Well first, you tried to take control when we came in.” Steve flushes red at the reminder of his failure. “I could decide that means you _want_ the control, but I don’t think you do. Am I right?” Steve nods, but Bucky tuts. “Words, darling.” 

Steve feels scolded and his cock hardens further. The urge to touch it is becoming very strong. “No, I don’t want it,” he says quietly. 

Bucky smiles at him. “I didn’t think so,” he said. “I think you just _thought_ you needed to take it. Because that’s what you always do, isn’t it, doll? Big boy like you comes along and people think you belong on top.” The derision in his voice makes clear what he thinks of that. Steve feels caught naked in a spotlight, unbearably _exposed._ His skin is buzzing and his cock throbs in his pants. He’s almost painfully aware of his shirt brushing against his sensitive nipples. Bucky reaches up to brush Steve’s hair back and then keeps his hand there, cupping Steve’s cheek.

Steve realizes Bucky is waiting for a response again. “Yes,” he breathes. It’s both an agreement and a plea for Bucky to keep touching him.

Bucky strokes at Steve’s cheek with his thumb. “People are idiots, baby. Sweet boy like you, so successful and having to be in charge all the time,” his hand shifts so that his thumb now rubs along Steve’s lower lip, “the pressure of the whole franchise on your lovely, young shoulders. You need someone to take care of you, don’t you.” He pushes his thumb slightly into Steve’s mouth, brushing against Steve’s tongue, then extracts it and spreads the wetness across his lips. “You need someone else to be in charge.”

Steve whines and a spot of wetness appears on his pants where he’s leaked through the fabric. He feels pink and raw, like his skin has been scrubbed clean of dirt and expectations and now he is clean and can breathe. “Yes Bucky, please. Please, I want—” he devolves into whimpers as Bucky pushes his thumb in again. This time Steve wraps his lips around the digit and tries to suck it in deeper. 

“I’m in control now, Steve,” he murmurs as he fucks his thumb in and out of Steve’s mouth. “You don’t get to be in charge. You just have to be good.” Steve nods fervently as his cock leaks into his pants some more. “You know about stoplight safewords?” Steve has to blink the fuzziness out of his mind, but then he nods again.

“I know a lot of stuff.” The words are garbled around Bucky’s thumb but the man understands. He chuckles a bit meanly.

“Oh, do you now? Done your research, darling? Think you know all about what you want?”

Bucky is mocking him a little, he thinks. He knows so much, and Steve is just an overexcited, fumbling boy who hasn’t actually done anything. The realization makes his cock jump and his mind soften further. “I want you to take whatever you want from me. I want you to teach me. Please, Sir.” He adds the title hopefully.

Bucky laughs again, kind this time. “Oh, a polite boy! You’re so good for Sir.” Steve preens. He’s so relieved. Bucky moves his hand down to stroke Steve’s nipple and his voice takes on a harder edge. “Letting me take whatever I want, though? That’s a dangerous thing to say, darling. What if I want to be mean?” He moves his hand down to pinch Steve’s nipple hard and Steve sucks in a surprised breath then pushes his chest into Bucky’s hand, picturing how his nipple will be getting pinker beneath his shirt. “What if I want to ruin a pretty young thing like you?”

“Please,” Steve gasps. 

Bucky smiles and then soothes the nipple with his thumb. “You’re a wonder, Steve. We’ll use the stoplights, then. But if you say stop or no or express any uncertainty tonight, I’m going to listen to that too.”

Steve pouts a bit at that, so Bucky brings his hand up and smooths it out with his thumb. He laughs at Steve’s chagrin. “What an eager boy. You really just want to give me everything.” He sounds awed. “Maybe next time.” A jolt goes through Steve at those words. He tries not to examine them, to just be in the moment and enjoy this Olympic hookup, but he already does wish that there could be a next time. 

This time, Bucky presses two fingers deep into Steve’s mouth, then pulls them out and rubs more saliva on and around Steve’s lips. “You’re very messy,” he says, and then uses the wet fingers to pull Steve towards him by the chin. Steve whimpers some more. “Oh, sweetheart. You make the loveliest sounds.” And then he presses his lips gently against Steve’s. 

Steve sighs against Bucky’s mouth, his lips parting, and Bucky brushes his tongue against Steve’s. Steve presses his whole body towards Bucky, reaches out to him blindly and grabs hold of his biceps like a lifeline. Bucky guides his mouth with the fingers on his chin, tilting his head slightly and deepening the kiss further. Steve is trying to climb into Bucky’s lap when there is a knock on his door. 

Bucky pulls away, looking slightly disheveled for the first time since their night began. He leans in for one more lingering kiss, then Steve sulks as he gets up and straightens his shirt before going to the door and collecting their dinner. 

When Bucky returns with the food and a bottle of wine, he gets the meal set out before them and sits in the chair across from Steve instead of the one next to him. Steve frowns at him.

Bucky leans over the table and kisses him, then sits back with a laugh. “Don’t give me that look, I won’t be able to keep my hands off if I’m that close. Young hockey players need a lot of calories, I hear.” 

“But Sir,” he whines, “I’ve been waiting all night. I don’t _want_ you to keep your hands off.” He’s surprised by his own lack of filter. His mind feels hazy and soft and he’s so turned on that his entire body is alight with it and he just _wants._ Except once he gets a whiff of the food on his plate and he can’t help but admit that Bucky has a point. He’s ravenous. 

Bucky ignores his whine and gestures at Steve’s plate with his fork. “Eat,” he says firmly. Since he’s hungry and happier now that it’s an order, Steve digs in. 

Both of them remember that they’re athletes burning Olympic levels of energy as soon as they start eating. They eat in silence for a few minutes before Bucky sits back and sips at his wine. He asks Steve about what he did during his last off season. Steve is caught off guard, but he tells Bucky about the trip he took to Europe between media events. As he talks and Bucky seems genuinely interested, asking him questions and returning with stories of his own, Steve opens up more and more. He talks about his mother and how happy she would have been to see him here, how much she supported him always. Bucky talks about getting to know Natasha as they competed in the same events, and then about how much she supported him after his accident. They keep stories in the past and have an unspoken understanding to avoid their careers altogether, but it seems like they talk about everything important.

Steve has never felt so cherished before. Has never felt like someone has cared about so many parts of him that aren’t hockey. 

Beautiful, confident Bucky, who has done and seen so much, who just won a gold fucking medal and wants to celebrate with _him_ , who calls Steve _sweetheart_ and _good boy_ , is also staring at him from across the table with complete focus as Steve talks about how he wanted to be a veterinarian as a child. 

It all feels like a dream, but not one he cares to try and wake up from. 

By the time they finish all of their food and much of the wine, Steve feels warm to his core. His arousal has lessened from something threatening to burn right through him to a gentle hum throughout his body. 

Until Bucky pushes his chair back slightly and pats his lap for Steve to come sit. Steve jumps up eagerly, almost knocking over his glass, and moves around the table to straddle Bucky’s thighs. His forgotten desperation returns quickly.

“Hello Sir,” he says shyly.

Bucky places his hands on either side of Steve’s hips and circles his hip bones with his thumbs. “Hi, sweetheart.” He’s smiling fondly. “Are you ready to be mine now?” 

Steve nods excitedly and then hunches a bit to hide his face against Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky’s neck is right in front of him, smelling so good, and he can’t resist giving the skin a kittenish lick. Bucky’s grip tightens on his hips. 

“Um Sir, I can’t do anything that will affect my playing.” Steve sounds regretful even to his own ears.

He can feel the rumble of Bucky’s quiet laugh beneath his ear. “Of course. You still have your own medal to win.” Steve purses his lips and knocks on the wood of the chair they sit on. Then he snuggles farther against Bucky’s chest. “Thank you for being clear about it though, baby. Now it does make me wonder what you’d let me do to you if you _didn’t_ have games to play.” 

Bucky’s hands have started wandering up Steve’s shirt, sliding over the bare skin of his back. When he brushes across a deep bruise from the Canada game, Steve hisses and presses closer to him. Bucky pauses and then presses a bit harder on that spot. Steve’s breath hitches and he grinds his hips towards Bucky. When his hard cock meets Bucky’s hip, he shudders. He’s leaking again. 

“Do you have a bruise here, baby?” Steve nods against Bucky’s shoulder, still making small thrusts against Bucky. “Is this hurting you?” he asks kindly while pressing down harder. Steve whines and nods again, thrusting his hips harder. 

“Sir please,” he moans. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for. 

Bucky seems to take it as a sign, though. He pulls Steve’s shirt back down and rests his hands on Steve’s upper thighs. His left hand brushes Steve’s cock lightly and he must be able to feel damp cloth beneath his fingertips. Steve blushes, embarrassed even as he tries to push his cock closer to Bucky’s hand. 

“You’re so needy,” he breathes, then brushes his fingers over the cloth covering Steve’s cockhead. “Look at this. I hurt you and it made you so wet.” 

“ _Sir_.” Steve can’t say anything else. 

Bucky grips Steve’s hips once more, this time lifting him off his lap. “Up you go, babydoll. Get yourself to the bed now.” He pats Steve on the ass. “Strip to your panties and lay down, ass up.” 

Steve almost cries from how happy he is. “Yes Sir.”

He walks over to the bed and hears Bucky cleaning up behind him. The sky has gone completely dark outside and the view of the sparkling city is beautiful. 

He barely spares it a passing glance. He gets to present for Sir. 

He strips off his clothing without ceremony, almost tripping over his pants in his haste to pull them off. Once he’s down to his… his _panties_ , he crawls onto the mattress. Bucky just said to lay down ass up, so he takes a few liberties and gets into his favorite position. Folded over bent legs, knees spread, his ass raised and his face pressed to the bed. 

He doesn’t have to wait for long. Bucky sets some items onto the table and then sits on the bed next to Steve. Steve turns his head to look at him. Bucky looks very gentle in the dim light. 

Bucky rests his hand on the swell of Steve’s ass and begins rubbing it firmly. Steve pushes his ass back towards the touch. 

“Perfect.” Steve is surprised and then pleased by how adamant Bucky sounds. “Good boy. God, you’re so good. Are you real?” He runs his hand down to the bottom edge of Steve’s underwear and slips a few fingers under the fabric, running them along the skin where Steve’s thigh meets his ass. 

Steve bites his lip and tries to shift so Bucky’s hands go farther up. Bucky withdraws his hand and smacks Steve’s ass. 

“Oh!” Steve exclaims in surprise. Grips the blanket next to his head tightly. 

Bucky sinks his nails into the flesh he had just spanked. “Be still,” he instructs.

Steve stops moving his hips and it’s unbearable. He’s so turned on that even that small outlet was helping and now he has nothing. He clenches his fists even tighter on the bedspread and looks up at Bucky pleadingly. 

“Sir, please” he begs. 

Bucky looks down at him. “Oh, baby. Is it hard to be still? Look at you, you’re so desperate. Your panties must be soaked by now,” he remarks. He undoes his belt and unzips his pants and gets his cock free. It’s the first time Steve has seen it, and it’s hard and _big._ Steve makes a strangled noise as Bucky starts stroking himself lazily. He keeps saying “please,” over and over, and he doesn’t even know what he’s begging for. He just needs _something_ and Bucky is sitting there calmly, denying him and stroking himself and why doesn’t he want to use _Steve?_

Tears build up in Steve’s eyes. When they spill over, Bucky brings his hand to Steve’s face and brushes them away. He lifts his fingertips to his mouth and licks the salty drops. “Beautiful.” His voice is soft. He’s still stroking himself, as if he’s getting off to Steve’s misery. 

Steve cries harder and says one last, “please, Sir.”

Bucky starts rubbing Steve’s back. The touch brings relief to his buzzing skin, but also makes him more aware of the areas that Bucky isn’t touching. 

“Shhhh, sweetheart,” he hushes. “I’ve got you. What a pretty boy.” He runs his hand from Steve’s back to the waistline of his underwear and slides it down over his ass so that his cock is still trapped in front but now his hole is exposed. Bucky starts lightly massaging Steve’s ass, still not touching where Steve is aching to be touched. 

He can’t take it anymore. “Sir, why?” he asks tearfully. “Don’t you want it?”

“This pretty hole?” Bucky asked, circling around Steve’s rim but not touching it. “Oh sweetheart, I want it so much _._ It’s such a lovely pink and I want to make it go _red._ If we don’t go slow I might hurt you. I might not be able to stop myself,” he says. He drags his nails hard across Steve’s asscheek and Steve savors the pain.

“What if,” Steve’s small voice trails off, but then he swallows and tries again. “Sir, what if I want you to hurt me?” he asks. 

Bucky groans, “babydoll, you’re gonna be the death of me.” He pulls on Steve’s hip to prompt him to move. “Here, come up and sit on my lap. You’ve been so still, you’re a very good boy.” Steve is practically wiggling at the praise. He stands and Bucky helps him take his underwear off before he settles his naked thighs over Bucky’s clothed ones. He can see that Bucky is graying at his temples. 

His erection is so close to Bucky’s own, and when Bucky grabs his ass with both hands and pulls him closer, they brush together. Steve lets out a needy gasp and wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck. 

“Mmm, fuck baby.” Bucky uses his hold on Steve’s ass to urge him to grind against him. He initiates a messy kiss as Steve complies and Steve moans into his mouth. He’s dripping and it’s getting on Bucky’s pants, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

Soon, Steve is rocking steadily and clumsily trying to push Bucky’s shirt off. “Sir, please,” he begs. He wants to feel Bucky’s skin on his. Bucky must agree, because he starts unbuttoning.

When Bucky’s top half is bare, Steve runs his hands across Bucky’s skin hungrily. Bucky has his hand holding the back of Steve’s neck to hold him in place as he explores his mouth, and it’s making Steve feel safe and owned. 

He’s smearing pre-come on Bucky’s stomach and dick as he continues to grind enthusiastically.

“Oh god, _Sir._ Fuck, I might come, can I come?” His sounds are becoming louder and more fervent.

Bucky grips his hips tightly and forces him to stop. “No, babydoll, be still now. You can’t come yet.” Steve lets out a dismayed whine. 

“Oh Sir, _please,_ I’m so close.” Bucky’s grip is unrelenting. It may leave bruises. 

“No. I haven’t gotten to use you nearly enough, sweetheart. This is my celebration, isn’t it?”

Steve is still whimpering desperately, but he nods. “I want to be good Sir, it’s just so _much._ ” Tears leak from his eyes. Bucky kisses them away.

“You’re being so good for me, Steve, so perfect. Now I need you to get on all fours on the bed.” 

Steve hurries to comply, much less upset. Is Bucky going to fuck him now? Oh god, it will be so much. He does own bigger toys, but not many, and he’s only taken those with a lot of prep when he’s going to have some time off. He’s practically drooling at the thought.

Bucky does some stuff behind him and then he hears the snick of a lube bottle. Then, he feels a slick finger circling his hole and he clutches at the bedspread.

“Oh, _Sir,_ ” he breathes. Bucky leans over his body and mouths at his neck as he starts to press his finger past the ring of Steve’s asshole. Steve pushes back, trying to make Bucky enter him more quickly. Bucky continues pressing into him steadily. When his hand is flush against Steve’s ass, he pulls it out at the same slow pace, then continues that way. In and out with the one finger, steady and slow. It’s not nearly enough.

“ _Please_ Sir, I need more,” Steve sobs. 

“Are you sure? Your small hole is very tight.” Steve nods frantically, begging incoherently. He’s been hard since they arrived, and this inadequate stimulation feels like it’s making his desperation worse.

Bucky kisses the back of his neck, then bites down forcefully on his shoulder as he presses two fingers in, this time forcing them in hard. The pain from the bite and the pleasure from Bucky’s fingers meld and the sensation takes over Steve’s awareness as Bucky twists his hand and fucks the fingers in and out. It’s still not enough.

“Oh Sir, please more, _please_.”

Bucky nips hard at the tender spot on Steve’s shoulder and the pain sends another zing of pleasure down his spine. 

“Your hole is so tight, baby. Maybe I shouldn’t add any more,” Bucky murmurs. Steve is not in a place to be teased and Bucky’s words make him beg and plead like he’s being tortured. He pushes his ass up higher, trying to entice him. “What a greedy hole you’ve got, baby. It’s just sucking my fingers right in.” And then he adds some more lube and another finger, and Steve becomes incoherent.

“Oh fuck, _Sir, please_ . Fuck me, _please_.” He’s babbling and begging and he thinks he might be drooling a bit onto the sheets but he can’t spare enough brain cells to care.

And then Bucky urges his thighs together and he feels something slide between them and brush against his balls and he looks down beneath himself and sees the head of Bucky’s cock and realizes that Bucky is _fucking_ his _thighs_ and he’s torn between his brain whiting out because it’s so fucking hot and sobbing from the disappointment that Bucky _still isn’t fucking him._

He settles on pressing his thighs together tightly and making desperate, sobbing noises. Bucky continues fucking him with his fingers. “That’s it baby, tight like that, fuck, you’re incredible sweetheart. Just let me take care of you, I have you now.” He’s breathing heavily as he thrusts into the tight heat. “Your hole is so tight and hungry, baby. I can’t fuck you today, I won’t be able to control myself. I’ll hurt you. I’ll have to fuck you until you’re raw and swollen and we can’t have that. You’re going to have to come like this.”

“Sir,” Steve cries. He’s distraught and keeps begging, but he’s getting closer and closer to coming anyways. His balls are tight and his cock is aching. Bucky snakes his free hand around Steve’s body and twists his nipples hard and more tears slip from Steve’s eyes. 

“Fuck, your tits,” he breathes. “I’m getting close, sweetheart. Would you like to touch yourself, baby? Would you like some help?”

Steve starts shaking his head before Bucky even finishes asking. “No Sir, please no, I swear I can come like this, please keep going, I want to come like this, Sir.” If he has to touch his cock he’s going to say yellow. He wants to be _good,_ he wants to have help from Sir and just use his hole.

Bucky runs his hand over Steve’s back. “Shhh, sweetheart, you’re so good. Your pretty little cock is just going to hang there, neglected. No one is going to touch it. Show me how you can come from just your hungry little hole.” 

Steve lets out a high moan. Every few strokes, Bucky’s cock points upwards and pushes against his perineum and it’s so close to his hole. He’s almost at the edge, he just needs a little bit more, he’s brainless with it. “Sir please, Sir _please._ Please fuck me,” he sobs. 

“Fuck baby, okay,” he breathes, and Steve can scarcely believe what he’s hearing. Wonders if it’s just wishful thinking and sheer desperation. “Just a little bit, just the tip.” Steve nods frantically, ready to agree to anything, barely even hearing Bucky’s words.

Bucky pours more lube down Steve’s crack, and then slips three fingers in again. They go easily and Steve keens as he tries to force them farther. Bucky thrusts them in a few times before pulling them out and lining himself up at Steve’s hole. Then slowly, he begins to push. The stretch at Steve’s rim is a lot more than it had been with three fingers. It feels so good.

And then barely two inches in, Bucky stops. “Okay baby, that’s all you get.”Steve tries to push down farther, but Bucky has wrapped his hand around himself, creating a barrier. Steve whines in frustration. He’s so _close._ “C’mon baby, little thing like you only needs the tip. Fuck yourself on it.”

Steve clings to the sheets to leverage himself and pulls out to the tip and then pushes back until he meets Bucky’s hand. It’s so wide, but not nearly deep enough to satisfy him, and his frustration builds. But as he fucks himself on it more and more, the head sometimes popping out so that he has to find it and push it in again, he feels his orgasm building. He moves desperately, his sensitive rim getting constantly stimulated. And then he’s pushing back hard one last time and he manages to push Bucky’s hand back almost another inch and he gets filled more than he has been all night. It’s _so good_ and then he’s coming in waves that feel wrenched from his gut. He moans into the sheets, babbling “Sir” over and over. Bucky pulls out, and then Steve feels hot stripes across his back as Bucky comes on his skin. 

His body melts down to the sheets. He barely musters up the energy to turn enough to see Bucky.

“Sir,” he mumbles. He tries to reach for him but he still feels very fuzzy and moves as though through molasses.

Bucky comes over and lies beside him. He cups Steve’s cheek and leans in to kiss him gently.

“Hello, sweetheart.” 

Steve hums happily. “Sir,” he says again.

Bucky strokes his cheek. “You were very good for me, thank you. You’re the greatest prize anyone has ever gotten at the Olympics, I think.” Steve giggles and snuggles close to him. Bucky reaches to the bedside table and retrieves a washcloth, then gently wipes at Steve’s back and ass. He retrieves a glass of water that he had brought over earlier and helps Steve sit up a bit to sip at it.

When done, he pulls Steve in and wraps his arms around him.

Steve comes up slowly. 

Bucky spends the entire time holding him and stroking his back and occasionally kissing the top of his head or murmuring praises. 

When Steve begins to shift around a bit, Bucky pulls away enough to look at him. “How are you feeling, babydoll?” 

Steve bites his lip. Shyness has taken the place of the fuzziness of subspace. “I feel so good, Sir. Can you kiss me, please?”

Bucky smiles. “Sweetheart, I would love to.” He leans in and presses his lips against Steve’s, and they spend some time exchanging sweet kisses. Steve begins to harden again, and Bucky feels it against his hip. Steve is grinding imperceptibly without even realizing it. 

“That’s it, rub yourself off on me.” Steve clings to Bucky and starts grinding against him. His orgasm builds up quickly, until he’s whimpering and panting into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky has his hand on Steve’s ass to help him along. “Yeah, just like that. Come for me, sweetheart.”

Bucky pushes two fingers into Steve’s mouth and Steve sucks them hard as he thrusts a few more times and then comes all over Bucky’s skin. Afterwards, he’s boneless. Bucky cleans them both up and pulls Steve close once more. 

They rest for a while longer, Bucky carding his hands through Steve’s hair. Eventually, Bucky decides that Steve needs more food before they sleep, so he rouses a grumpy Steve. But then Bucky helps him to the loveseat near the window and lets him sit on his lap as he feeds him fruit and meat and Steve feels like he’s floating high in the air. He feels like if he stays here, in Bucky’s arms, nothing bad could ever happen to him. He wants to ask what happens next, what Bucky’s plans are now that the competition is over for him, but he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. He can ask in the morning, he decided. He wants to revel in this for as long as he can.

The next morning, he wakes up late.

When Bucky had asked him if he had an alarm set the night before, he thought he had, and so he’d said yes. Apparently, not. 

Bucky gets up to help him gather his stuff and then offers to help him back to the Village, but Steve feels awful about ruining their morning and so raw and reality is crashing on him, so he adamantly says he would prefer to hurry there alone. Bucky protests, but ultimately lets him. Steve tries to tell himself that he’s not disappointed.

It’s a flurry of motion, and then he’s kissing Bucky goodbye and Bucky is telling him to call after his practice and then he’s out the door. 

Steve cries in the car back.

It’s only a little, and it feels very silly, but what if he never sees Bucky again? They didn’t get the chance to talk about it. Steve wanted to ignore the likely reality that he would never see Bucky again, and either Bucky did too, or he didn’t want to deal with the awkwardness of telling Steve it was just a one night thing. 

After wiping away some of his tears, Steve works to settle himself. What did he think anyways? Bucky is from Russia. Even if they do see each other again this week, they’ll part ways at the end of it. He needs to just enjoy what he got.

And what he got was far more than he’d ever even dared to hope for. His head feels clear and his thoughts feel quieter. He’ll remember the night he just had for the rest of his life. But tomorrow he will be playing in an Olympic quarterfinal, and Steve did not get where he is by not being able to compartmentalize for hockey. 

With that, he allows himself one more passing wish that he can see Bucky again, at least one more time, and then starts thinking about the game.

When Steve joins his team in the locker room, they give him a lot of shit. Luckily, he’s early enough that he has time to gear up but late enough that they have to head onto the ice pretty quickly. For the ribbing that he can’t sidestep, he puts on his media face and they get bored by his bland answers pretty quickly. Sam makes it pretty clear that he’ll be giving some answers later, though.

Practice goes well. It’s mostly casual, just to get them warmed up and feeling good for tomorrow. The qualifier game versus Switzerland was definitely not a blow out, so they’re going to have a fight on their hands, but Steve is feeling good about it. When Coach comes in to give them one last talk before the game, he says the same. So Steve spends the last of it taking shots on Sam, who tries to get him talking about last night, then throws his blocker at him when he keeps being cagey. Steve laughs, knowing he won’t be able to hold back from gushing to Sam after practice, with a PG version of the events at least. He might make it five minutes before spilling.

Most of the team decides to head to lunch together, ravenous as they all are after practice. Steve especially, since he didn’t have time for as much breakfast as he usually would have gotten. They leave the locker room, head to the lobby, and are about to exit the building when Steve stops in his tracks. 

Hovering over at the side of the room is a large, white teddy bear. Behind that bear is Bucky.

Steve’s heart starts beating at double speed and he breaks into a smile. Sam looks back to see why he’s stopped, spots Bucky, and then rolls his eyes and ushers the rest of the team along.

Steve rushes over.

“Bucky?” He asks, eyes wide and voice hopeful. 

Bucky grins. “Hey, sweetheart. I know it’s not after the game, but maybe it can still bring you some luck.” He hands the large bear to Steve. It’s unbelievably soft. Steve holds it tightly against his chest. “I realize that ambushing you after your practice could be a creepy move, but I figured I won gold yesterday, so why not see if I can get lucky again?” 

This is the most nervous Steve has ever seen Bucky and it calms his own nerves. “I’m really glad you came. I was gonna call you after lunch,” he says. 

Bucky’s usual cocky grin returns. “Well I’ll do you one better, let’s get lunch together.”

Steve smiles and nods, but then feels obligated to list his trainer approved foods, because it really is time to get serious. He rambles on in far more detail than he intended to, listing specific grains and unable to get himself to shut up. But Bucky just smiles and nods along and wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in as they walk. When Steve’s mouth finally listens to his brain and stops moving, Bucky says he knows the perfect spot.

Steve blushes as he realizes how demanding he’s being. “Sorry,” he mutters.

Bucky gives him a look. “Steve, my trainer prays for me to be this disciplined. You’re a dream. We’re at the Olympics, I think it’s pretty fair to say that I’m extremely attracted to you as an athlete.” Steve blushes and shifts further into Bucky’s hold. Bucky brushes a hand over his hair briefly. “Besides, it’s adorable,” he adds. 

In a lot of ways, last night feels like it could have just been a fevered dream he actually had back in his room in the Village. Especially after the aborted morning, his memories of the whole thing feel surreal. But now Bucky is here, walking him through Vancouver in the bright daylight. Steve doesn’t even know what to think, but it feels inarguably real. It’s actually happening to him. _Bucky_ is actually happening to him. He’s soaring inside.

But he’s also the kind of person who keeps a strict daily routine and is used to having his entire life scheduled through March. This uncertainty is not something he knows how to deal with. 

He’s about to finally ask, but they’ve arrived at one of the Village dining halls and Steve raises an eyebrow instead. Bucky grins.

“Even I can’t find a spot with trainer approved foods at lunchtime during the Olympics.” He opens the door for Steve with a flourish. “Welcome to Vancouver’s finest dining establishment.” Steve giggles and Bucky looks at him adoringly. Then they grab food and find a table hidden away in the back.

By the time they sit down, Steve’s nerves are pretty much fried with how much he’s second guessing himself, but he steels himself and finally asks. “Um, Bucky? When are you leaving?” His voice comes out much more quietly than he’d intended. 

Bucky settles into his chair and then sits back and takes a deep breath. “So, I head out tonight,” he finally says. Steve’s heart drops to his feet. He frowns down at his plate.

“Oh,” he finally says. His eyes are stinging.

Bucky reaches across the table and uses one finger to lift his chin. Tears are stupidly pooling above Steve’s lower lashes. “Oh, darling, I know. I’m so upset that I won’t see your games. But we’re not in the Exhibition Gala and Russia wants us in Moscow to make some appearances with our medals.”

Steve pushes his food around angrily. “Why did you even come today then, huh?” He’s frustrated that he’s crying and upset at himself for getting his hopes up and now he’s lashing out. Just, Bucky had said “next time.” He hadn’t even fucked him properly. The tears finally spill over.

Bucky places his hand on Steve’s arm and strokes his skin soothingly, speaking gently. “I wanted to see you again, and give you your good luck bear. I’m sorry that I won’t be able to give it to you after your medal.” There is a stream of tears running down Steve’s cheeks now, and he’s so distraught that he doesn’t even think to worry about Bucky cursing him. He’s so _stupid._ God, what did he think would happen? They’d start a relationship? Long distance?

Bucky gets up and moves to the seat next to him. He pulls Steve towards him and Steve goes easily, crying against his soft sweater. 

“It’ll be alright.” He kisses the top of Steve’s head. “I’ll call you every night, okay? And this way you won’t have me around to distract you from the rest of your games.”

How can he _say_ that? Like he hasn’t already made Steve want him around all the time. Like talking to him on the phone wouldn’t just draw out the agony. “What’s the point, anyways?” he asks angrily, muffled against Bucky’s chest. “It’s not like I can fly out to Russia between home games.” 

“Why would you…” Bucky pulls back enough to look Steve in the face. He wipes at his tears with his thumb, then cups his face like he’s holding a baby bird. “God, sweetheart. Did this not come up? Do you think I live in Russia?”

Steve blinks. His thoughts come to a halt. He tries and fails not to hope. “You… you don’t?”

“Steve, did you think I was a Rangers fan living in Moscow? I’d get kicked out! Natasha and I live in New York, baby. We train in Jersey.” 

Steve stares at Bucky with wide eyes. Then he’s crying all over again. “What? You do?” his voice breaks on the last word. 

Bucky pulls him close again. “Oh, sweetheart. You think I would be happy with just one night? With a darling little thing like you?” He kisses Steve’s forehead. “My career is coming to an end, I’m getting older. I know a good thing when I see it.” He rubs Steve’s back and is speaking softly, as if soothing a small animal. “I really am sorry that I can’t stick around to watch you win gold, but I’d like to take you on a real date when I get back.”

“Bucky, stop jinxing me!” Steve is so happy that he can’t even make himself sound annoyed. Still, Bucky removes one arm from around him and knocks at the table. “Well I’ll let you take me on a date and see what I think.”

Bucky laughs at his bluff and kisses him. “That’s all I ask.” After a moment, he gets more serious. “I’m sorry I let you think I was done with you. You’re incredible, Steve. I want to know you.” Just when Steve thinks he might combust from the blushing, Bucky takes on a lighter tone again. “You’re just the sweetest little thing, though. Reaction like that sure makes a guy feel special.”

Steve sits back and wipes at his eyes. “I cry too much around you,” he pouts. “It probably is good that you won’t be around for the rest of my games.”

“You’re just soft for me, sweetheart,” Bucky says fondly, and then pushes Steve’s plates towards him. “Now you eat all your food and focus on your hockey. We don’t have a competition for a while, so I can see you when I get back in a couple weeks.”

Steve obeys and starts eating. “I know I thought you’d be gone forever before, but now a couple weeks sounds too long,” he pouts.

Bucky laughs, but he also looks extremely pleased. “Hey who knows, you might win that gold and then forget all about me!”

“Bucky!” Steve exclaims, but Bucky is already knocking on the table. 

“I know, I know. I’ve just seen you play before and I like your chances,” he says. 

Steve blushes. If Bucky lives in the city and is a fan, it makes sense that he’s been to some games, but Stave had still been thinking he just watched on TV. “Really? You’ve been to our games?” He doesn’t know why he’s nervous, he knows he’s good at hockey, just. It’s _Bucky._ He wants to impress him. Doesn’t want to just be some silly kid who hasn’t achieved anything yet.

Bucky slides his plate towards him again to remind him to keep eating. Shockingly, he also looks a bit shy about the current topic. “Yeah, I was at your first game, actually.” Steve is shocked. He didn’t play in the first few games because of an injury, and the feeling that he was already letting his team down was crushing. He felt like they’d wasted their pick. But then in his first game, everything just clicked. He scored twice. But it was a random home game, and such a coincidence that Bucky was there. “I saw your first goal, and then your second. You were so young and ecstatic and it was like you were finally seeing your future. It was really inspiring. You’re beautiful on the ice.”

Steve bites his lip to temper his smile. “Nah,” he says basfully. “We’re all brute force out there. Your skating is _actually_ beautiful.” He peers up at Bucky and then plays with his food a bit. “I haven’t even won the cup.” 

He tries to say it casually, but Bucky forces him to meet his gaze. “Hey, none of that, Steve. You’re twenty-one, doll, come on. You have years and _years_ left. You finally got the Rangers to the playoffs, you won the goddamn Calder. You’re at the _Olympics_. It’s going to happen.” His voice sounds fierce, like he really, truly believes the words that he’s saying. 

Steve is once again overwhelmed by emotions. How can this man he just met, this amazing man who has seen and done and won so much, who’s everything he’s wanted and everything he didn’t even know to want, believe in him like this? He has supportive teammates, and good friends, and he’s so grateful for them. But everyone has their own goals, their own lives, a lot of them are starting to have families. This feels like it might be the first time since his mother died that he’s felt so unconditionally supported. And it’s from a man he just met two days ago. He knows that he shouldn’t trust it so implicitly, that he’s being ridiculous. But he does trust it. He trusts Bucky and the words he says. He trusts his own emotions and the strong pull he already feels. And he really wants to see Bucky much, much more. Wants to know what they could be together.

And hey. He’s at the _fucking_ Olympics, his team is headed to the quarterfinals, and _Bucky lives in Brooklyn._

So what’s another impossible thing? It might be crazy, but they also might win gold together. And he doesn’t think he needs to knock on wood for this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is a short epilogue :)


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2 years, 4 months later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is embarrassingly fluffy! Beware: Cavity Risk Ahead!

_ 2 years, 4 months later _

Natasha picks him up from the airport. 

She looks just as beautiful and scary as always. Steve tries to say as much in Russian, but butchers it horribly. He had planned to be so much farther with the language before their trip to visit Bucky’s family this summer, but the season had been busier and longer than past seasons, and well, he’s certainly not going to regret that. His one Russian teammate has definitely gotten tired of the constant language questions, though.

Nat just laughs at his horrible grammar and pulls him in for a hug, then roasts him in Russian. And then she repeats it in English, to really make sure he feels bad. 

“Wow, is that really the right way to greet a champion?” he asks, feigning offense. She rolls her eyes as they climb into her flashy car. 

“Let me know when you get your gold medal, then we’ll talk.”

Steve gasps and clutches at his heart. “Now that was a low blow, Nat.” Even now, two years later, Nat is probably the only one who could get away with coming at him about the silver they took to Canada at the Olympics. He always pretends to be insulted, but really he’s pleased at her teasing. She’s Bucky’s best friend, and though she was slightly skeptical when the two of them got into a serious relationship so quickly, she’s since taken to treating Steve like an adored younger brother. 

Nat just grins at his affrontedness and tears out onto the street. “Someone’s gotta keep you humble. Kid wins one Stanley Cup and suddenly thinks he’s hot shit.” Steve tries to look offended again, but he can’t even manage it. He’s way too fucking happy. Nat seems to realize this, because she glances over and sees his grin and her expression turns fond. “I guess you did get the Art Ross too,” she acquiesces. “Maybe your head could do with getting a little bigger.”

He turns and beams at her. “Thanks, Nat.” He’s not just thanking her for the compliment. It’s for the ride, for keeping Bucky busy throughout the playoffs so he couldn’t drive Steve crazy with his hovering. He swears Bucky was more nervous than he was during the last series. And possibly more excited when they won as well. He’d been  _ highly _ congratulatory. And since Steve’s season is over, well, he has the sore ass and deep bruises to prove it.

Bucky had taken an earlier flight home this morning so he could get their place ready for company. He’d invited Steve’s team over for a party, and many of them plan on coming, but Steve has no desire whatsoever to spend any of his post-Cup days cleaning the apartment. Bucky loves it though, so Steve let him go earlier, as much he already misses his boyfriend only ten hours later.

Nat seems to hear the weight of his gratitude. “No problem, you seriously earned it, Steve. Although as happy as I am for you, I am so glad that you’re done now. He’s been insufferable.”

Steve smiles and tips his head back happily. He can believe that. Nat and Bucky coach together at the New York Team USA figure skating club, so between that plus all of Bucky’s free time the past couple months, she’s been getting a lot of him. 

“Well don’t worry, he’ll definitely be out of your hair now,” he says cheekily. “I don’t plan on letting him out of bed for at _ least _ a week.”

She just rolls her eyes, way past immune to how gross Steve and Bucky are as a couple. “Try to at least wait until people are drunk to ditch everyone today, okay?”

“No promises.” Bucky may have taken him down  _ hard _ after the win and subsequent celebrations, but he’s not even close to having his fill after the playoffs made them overly cautious about scenes and sex in general. He’s already an insatiable slut, but dear god will he be kicking it up and really getting his fill this off season.

Nat pulls into their driveway and cuts the engine. Moving out of the city had been a bit of an ordeal, but both his practice rink and Bucky’s coaching rink are out here, so it makes way more sense. Plus they have a beautiful yard and a ton of space. Enough that they’ve been able to get Winter, their rescue collie. 

Who is currently sprinting through the yard, barking happily and jumping up on Steve. Steve laughs and greets her, giving her pets and rubbing her belly when she rolls onto her back.

But then the front door opens, and Steve can’t help himself. He stands and runs towards the figure standing in the entry, Winter chasing after him, then crashes into Bucky’s arms. Bucky wraps him close immediately, his hold tight and warm and  _ home.  _ Then he presses his lips against Steve’s, who tries to escalate the kiss right away. But Nat walks up behind him, so Bucky he pulls away just enough to be able to greet her, Steve still tucked against his body.

Bucky’s wearing a “Hi, Hungry, I’m Bucky!” apron that Sam got him as a birthday present to make fun of him for being such a domestic dad type. It completely backfired because a) Bucky loves the hell out of it and b) every time Steve sees Bucky wearing it, he thinks about how daddy it makes Bucky look and tries to climb him like a tree, forcing Sam to flee for his life. 

They go back to the kitchen and Steve lets the two of them catch up as he settles in against Bucky’s side. He had remained wide awake during the flight, but now that he’s safe at home with Bucky, he’s drooping fast. The night of the cup win, the team celebrated late into the night, and then yesterday, he and Bucky had hung out in Boston and then stayed in a hotel and fucked, also late into the night. Bucky took a horrendously early flight back, but Steve had a later ticket and was able to sleep in. Still, he’s exhausted. He’s beginning to think that he wasn’t lying to Nat about spending a week in bed, but he might be sleeping for more of that then he’d intended.

Bucky realizes the state that he’s in pretty quickly.

“Sweetheart, I think it’s naptime for you.” He kisses Steve’s forehead. “You need some food and some sleep before people come over.” He takes off his apron, gets Steve sitting at the kitchen counter with some leftover pasta salad in front of him, then goes to see Nat out the door. She’ll be coming back with her girlfriend Jessica later on. 

When Bucky returns, Steve has eaten most of the salad and his eyes are starting to fall shut. Bucky smiles fondly. 

“Alright baby, let’s get you into a bed before you fall asleep in the kitchen, yeah?” Steve nods and clings to Bucky.

“I missed you, Sir,” he says in a sweet, gentle voice. Bucky takes his hand and leads him upstairs. 

“I missed you too, love. Did you have a good flight?”

Steve murmurs an assent. “I didn’t sleep, though. I’m tired.” 

Bucky chuckles and steers him to their bedroom. “I can tell. Sweet, sleepy boy.” They’re in their room now, and Bucky is helping Steve undress. Once Steve’s shirt is off, Bucky starts fussing over the large bruise and small cut on Steve’s collarbone, nevermind the worse bruises scattered all over his body that Bucky himself caused. “Damnit baby, you couldn’t just get through the playoffs without a fight, huh?” 

Steve musters up some energy to get indignant. “What was I supposed to do, you saw! Zemo cross-checked Rhodey  _ three times _ , no call. I’m not gonna let my D-man get abused. Fuckin Bruins.”

Bucky laughs and kisses the cut. “Of course not, fierce little captain.” Steve rolls his eyes, but the way he smiles and snuggles against Bucky belies his annoyance. 

In all honesty, Steve probably could have handled it a bit better. Still, the checks were fucking blatant and the whole thing makes his blood boil. As captain, he feels especially protective of his teammates, but he knows he also needs to set a good example. Especially since there are a lot of people who think he’s too young and hot-headed for the role. He’s had to work hard to get over his penchant for taking stupid penalties when the other team starts to play dirty. Bucky has been the one to help him with that the most.

Really, Bucky has helped him with far more things than he could ever name. His first couple years in the NHL, Steve had put all of himself into his hockey. He didn’t have anyone to come home to, and his friends were all players as well, so he had no semblance of a life outside of the sport. He didn’t really think he needed one, as much as he had all those dirty fantasies. 

And oh does Bucky fulfill those and more. But he also gives him a full life. Their little family, their house, helping Steve keep his life structured in the way he needs but taking the burden of maintaining it off of him. Steve is cared for and cherished and loved, and they may not have won gold at that last Olympics, but it will still always be the most important trip of his life. 

“I love you, Sir,” he mumbles. He wants to say more, but he’s so sleepy. Bucky is pulling back the blankets and helping him under them, and it’s so soft. His head settles onto the pillow and he watches drowsily as Bucky pulls his own shirt off and lays down in front of him. “Sir? Are you napping with me?”

Bucky brushes the back of his hand across Steve’s cheek. “No baby, I’ll just stay with you until you sleep.” 

Steve nods and wiggles closer to Bucky. “Sir, can I rub please?” he asks, still adorably shy despite all that they’ve done and been through. He’s on the verge of unconsciousness, but there is a low thrum of arousal running through his body. His cock is slightly hard. He wants stimulation of some kind.

Bucky pulls Steve in with a hand on his ass. “Yeah sweetheart, hump your pretty little cock against me. Only gentle rubs, I don’t want you getting too excited to sleep.” Steve nods and starts making tiny mewling sounds as he pushes against Bucky’s hip, soft little thrusts. Bucky pushes two fingers into his mouth for him to suck. “How’s your hole, baby?” he moves the wet fingers down to Steve’s ass, slipping them under his underwear and brushing over Steve’s hole. “Does it hurt? Poor thing got ruined last night, hm? It was all red and puffy. It still feels swollen, darling.”

Steve whines and clings to Bucky’s other arm as he continues to push his hips forward gently. His hole does sting a bit. It’s nice. A soft haze joins the drowsy fog in his mind. “Sir,” he whimpers. 

“Good boy, does that feel nice?” Steve nods and presses his head against Bucky’s neck. 

“Wanna come, Sir.” 

Bucky uses his grip on Steve to make him slow his hips. “I know you do, baby. You don’t get to, though.” Steve nods and a tear slips from his eye at the reminder, but mostly he feels taken care of and protected and owned. Bucky always controls his orgasms, but he’s quite lenient during the season. During the off-season, not so much. Steve got to come as many times as he wanted last night, so he probably won’t again for a while. Right now, the arousal humming through his body is gentle and soft enough that he isn’t too desperate. Sleep will quickly take over.

“Thank you, sir. I love you, sir.” His voice is slurring. 

“I love you too, so much.” Bucky brushes his lips against Steve’s forehead. “Sleep now, my little champion.”

Steve smiles and finally lets consciousness slip away. The last things he notices are the jingles of Winter bounding in and up to the bed to curl up at his feet and then the sensation of Bucky rubbing circles into his back. 

While Steve drifts into sleep, Bucky watches him with so much adoration that any onlooker would be more embarrassed by the raw emotion in his gaze than by any physical acts they might have observed before.

As someone who had devoted his entire life to his success on the ice, whose relationships with anyone other than Natasha or his family would probably be better termed “arrangements,” he had honestly thought that as a thirty five year old finally thinking about retirement, it was too late for him. He looked around and saw people starting families of their own and all he had were some fucking medals. Thirty five certainly isn’t old _ , _ but it’s not early when you’re trying to start a real life from scratch, either.

But then he had met Steve. Beautiful, precious Steve. And he knows what it’s like to be young and only thinking about your career and expectations and the next win, but Steve has a bigger heart than he ever did, has so much more of a capacity to give and love even as he accomplishes his dreams. Bucky is so grateful that he at least has the experience to help Steve while he does. That he can help him keep his life full and take care of him and stand by him through everything.

And if he also starts to think about how perfect Steve is for him as his sub, he begins to wonder all over again how any of this could possibly be real. He has an unbelievable life.

Bucky knows that he needs to get up and continue getting ready for the party, but he just wants to bask in his joy for a little longer. To lounge in this little bubble with Steve and Winter on their bed in their home. He loves supporting Steve through his season, but it’s the off season now, and though they both have commitments, they also will have so much time together. 

Bucky sighs contentedly and pulls Steve closer as he gives himself five more minutes before getting up. He and Steve have their disagreements, as hard headed as they both can be sometimes, but he’s pretty sure their relationship couldn’t be better suited for either of them. That their life couldn’t be better suited for either of them.

They have incredible people (and dog) surrounding them, Steve just won the  _ fucking _ Stanley Cup, and Bucky has a ring in the pocket of his grill apron that he’ll be giving Steve tonight. 

So yeah. Life is pretty fucking perfect.

  
  
  
  



End file.
